


Salvation

by claquesous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claquesous/pseuds/claquesous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He panicked and grasped at his last hope of survival. “Do you permit it?” he asked, hoping with his heart for yes and with his mind for no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

The noise slipped away nebulously, and Grantaire wondered if it had even ever been there. Everything was so quiet, but busy. He took in a lungful of vaguely smoky air and puzzled for a moment over the smell as he stretched. Then he saw half a dozen men with guns and then he saw Enjolras.

The barricade, the barricade must have fallen. Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Marius, they must all be dead. There was nobody else left but the two of them. His ears rang. Had he been standing he would have swayed if not fallen. Intense relief washed through him as he realized he would not have to raise a gun, because he had always known that he couldn’t have done it. He had always known that he would stay, and he had always known that he would fail them all. But this way he didn’t have to fail anyone. Nobody had seen him. He could go back to sleep and he would have neither guilt nor grudge; he couldn’t be wrong if he passed no verdict, sustained no cause.

But then intense shame willfully chased away the relief: he was deceiving himself. He would die someday, and it would not be in hypocritical pursuit of something fake or wrong, but it would be miserable and superficial and cowardly. As terrified as he had ever been in his life, he dragged himself to his feet, his face stinging where he had peeled it from the table and his neck knotted. This could be a shameful way to die, he could be damning himself, he knew, but if this wasn’t the right way to die, he didn’t want to live, because if Enjolras wasn’t right, nothing was right.

They still hadn’t seen him. He could escape this still. He didn’t have to throw away his depraved life just yet. He took a horribly uncertain breath and was simultaneously relieved and dismayed to hear the words come out of his mouth; he hadn’t been sure they would. “Long live the Republic! I’m one of them.” He had cast his dice; he would share not only Enjolras’s death but his faith. There could be no declaration more frightening for him—giving his life and his death for a thing he couldn’t know was right. What was he doing? “Long live the Republic!” he repeated, desperately trying to convince himself he did indeed want the Republic to live. Enjolras wanted it; that must be enough.

“Finish both of us at one blow.” It was like his body was his conscience, moving to stand beside Enjolras while his mind still boiled with doubt. Even in his belief he doubted. He panicked and grasped at his last hope of survival. “Do you permit it?” he asked, hoping with his heart for yes and with his mind for no.

But then Enjolras shook his hand like an equal, smiled at him, and his mind was silenced. For the first and last time in his life Grantaire acted with perfect clarity of not only mind but conscience and heart. Survival was nothing next to salvation. He did not feel the blood surge through his veins to the sound of the gunshots, and he did not feel a single bullet. He felt Enjolras’s smooth, strong hand in his.


End file.
